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There was something in the way Altair made his announcement that he found disturbing. Remaining silent for a moment, he tossed and turned his assessment, his eyes fixed upon the youth's face.
He speaks the truth, but as briefly as he can. That was some consolation, he supposed, compared to if Altair had lied blatantly. That would have been the end of all discourse. For he was not quite sure that his own anger would not have gotten the better of him, had that happened, and sent the youth out of the house.
But what struck him particularly was the attitude of the boy he had seen growing up a decade ago. Altair was still feisty, though not in Robyn's overt way; he drew strength from silent defiance or innocuous detours instead; just like he had run away from home without a head-on argument.
Defiance. That was the word. He showed no sign of remorse for what he had done. And what aggravated matters was his relationship to Robyn. Gerald's jaws tightened as the memories of his daughter's sleepless nights and suppressed misery came back to haunt him.
He's not good enough for her. The foregone conclusion that Robyn still loved this reckless wanderer - and a ruthless criminal at that - was not lost on him. He closed his eyes painfully, but knew that no matter how he tried, he could not blot this reality. I'm not giving her up without a fight.
Yet the effects of a punishing battle in the morning, followed by the emotionally draining experience of witnessing his disloyal wife's demise were kicking in. Not feeling up to the task right now, he smiled grimly at his foresight of suspending judgement until the next morning.
"Thank you for your honest, though brief account." He chose his words carefully, as both of them arose from their seats. "You are tired, I am sure, and frankly, so am I. We shall talk more tomorrow." Nodding formally at Altair, he rested his hand on the lad's shoulder as he passed him by, calling out for the servants to show Altair to his room.
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